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Literature Text
The rattling breath of the air conditioning unit lofts chilled gusts on my bare arms, ignites a chill in my heart. My eyes glazed hours ago from the stark mixtures of ink on vellum and pixels glowing angrily, incessantly on screen. My mind is fogged and unfocused and days like today I doubt whether anyone is actually talking to me, so I listen only to the scrawl of my pen on paper and my joints popping their applause for choice movement.
Literature
The Coffee God
The Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve
Literature
Not All Things Will Fade
With a sky that struggles to offer unpolluted clouds, streets rich in garbage-filled potholes, rivers with more diseases than water, and more car thieves than there are cars, no sound mind would remain in this town willingly. Out of the few compliments I've gotten, none were for my sanity, so no wonder I'm here. Among the bunch of senseless decisions I've forged a life with, what's another to the list? Anyone with the smarts Nature reserves for rocks would abandon this wasteland now...But back in the day, before factory owners jumped at the chance to screw it over? Still nothing to brag about, but it was decent enough. A quiet city to watch t
Literature
Foggy Headlights (and Chromosomes)
I don't remember if it was a wedding or a funeral, only the flowers...
seemed like millions of them
Soft, sorrowful, white flowers... roses or orchids?
I don't remember now, maybe magnolias...
You smiled a thin smile, your face pale, washed out.
If it was a wedding, I wasn't the groom.
A funeral, I wasn't the guest of honor.
I never could get things straight, somehow.
Suggested Collections
Autobiographical in nature.
© 2014 - 2024 Kelcobi
Comments21
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I do like the imagery that you employ in this. It's easy to feel the chill at the beginning of the story (of course, the chill in the air contributes to that 
), but there is one thing there that I wanted to bring up because it distracted me from the piece itself.
on my bare arms, ignites a chill
It seems that there should be an "and" before ignites, or that "ignites" should be "igniting".
The imagery you use at the end is also very familiar to me. The popping of joints, the groan of those bones as the move in unwilling chorus, that is far too familiar. You've certainly provided a window into your creation process with this that I'm sure rings true to many. Thank you for sharing this, and congrats on the DD feature!
), but there is one thing there that I wanted to bring up because it distracted me from the piece itself.on my bare arms, ignites a chill
It seems that there should be an "and" before ignites, or that "ignites" should be "igniting".
The imagery you use at the end is also very familiar to me. The popping of joints, the groan of those bones as the move in unwilling chorus, that is far too familiar. You've certainly provided a window into your creation process with this that I'm sure rings true to many. Thank you for sharing this, and congrats on the DD feature!